Sea Wolf of CarmelByTheSea
by Hellish Androphic
Summary: AU. What if it wasn't Jesse haunting Suze's bedroom? She just moved to Carmel and already she has to deal with a ghost. Shame Suze doesn't know how to handle pirates...


Disclaimer: I don't own the Mediator or Pirates of the Caribbean.  
  
A.N: Ladies and Gents! I am proud to give you with the first ever (that I know of) crossover between 'The Mediator' and 'Pirates of the Caribbean: Curse of the Black Pearl'! MUWAHAHAH!!!!!! I had fun writing this! Hope you enjoy!!  
  
Chapter One: Ghosties and Girlies  
  
And I didn't want to set a foot in it. The house, I mean.  
  
I knew when I'd agreed to move with my mom to California that I'd be in for lots of changes. The roadside artichokes, the lemon groves, the ocean... they were nothing, really. The fact was, the biggest change was going to be sharing my mom with other people. In the decade since my father had died, it had been just the two of us. And I have to admit, I sort of liked it like that. In fact, if it hadn't been for the fact that Andy made my mom so obviously happy, I would have put my foot down and said, "No way," to the whole moving thing.  
  
But you couldn't even look at them together--Andy and my mom--and not be able to tell right away that they were completely gaga over each other. And what kind of daughter would I have been, if I said no way to that? So I accepted Andy, and I accepted his three sons, and I accepted the fact that I was going to have to leave behind everything I had ever known and loved-- my best friend, my grandmother, bagels, SoHo--in order to give my mom the happiness she deserved.  
  
But I hadn't really considered the fact that, for the first time in my life, I was going to have to live in a house.  
  
And not just any house, either, but, as Andy proudly told me as he was taking my bags from the car, and thrusting them into his sons' arms, a nineteenth century converted boarding house. Built in 1849, it had apparently had quite a little reputation in its day. Gunfights over card games and women had taken place in the front parlor. You could still see the bullet holes. In fact, Andy had framed one, rather than filling it in. It was a bit morbid, he admitted, but interesting, too. He bet we were living in the only house in the Carmel hills that had a nineteenth century bullet hole in it.  
  
Huh, I said. I bet that was true.  
  
My mother kept glancing in my direction as we climbed the many steps to the front porch. I knew she was nervous about what I was going to think. I was kind of irked at her, really, for not warning me. I guess I could understand why she hadn't, though. If she'd told me she had bought a house that was more than a hundred years old, I wouldn't have moved out here. I would have stayed with Grandma until it came time for me to leave for college.  
  
Because my mom's right: I don't like old buildings.  
  
Although I saw, as old buildings went, this one was really something. When you stood on the front porch, you could see all of Carmel beneath you, the village, the valley, the beach, the sea. It was a breathtaking view, one that people would--and had, judging from the fanciness of the houses around ours--pay millions for; one that I shouldn't have resented, not in the least.  
  
And yet, when my mom said, "Come on, Suze. Come see your room," I couldn't help shuddering a little.  
  
The house was as beautiful inside as it was outside. All shiny maple and cheerful blues and yellows. I recognized my mom's things, and that made me feel a little better. There was the pie-safe she and I had bought once on a weekend trip to Vermont. There were my baby pictures, hanging on the wall in the foyer, right alongside Sleepy, Dopey, and Doc's. There were my mother's books in the built-in shelves in the den. Her plants, which she'd paid so exorbitant a price to have shipped, because she'd been unable to bear parting with them, were everywhere, on wooden stands, hanging in front of the stained-glass windows, perched on top of the newel post at the end of the stairs.  
  
But there were also things I didn't recognize: a sleek white computer sitting on the desk where my mother used to write out checks to pay the bills; a wide-screen TV, incongruously tucked into a fireplace in the den, to which shift-sticks were wired, for some sort of video game; surf boards, leaning up against the wall by the door to the garage; a huge, slobbery dog, who seemed to think I was harboring food in my pockets, since he kept thrusting his big wet nose into them.  
  
These all seemed like obtrusively masculine things, foreign things in the life my mother and I had carved out for ourselves. They were going to take some getting used to.  
  
My room was upstairs, just above the roof of the front porch. My mother had been going on nervously for almost the entire trip from the airport about the window seat Andy had installed in the bay window. The bay windows looked out over the same view as the porch, that sweeping vista that incorporated the entire peninsula. It was sweet of them, really, to give me such a nice room, the room with the best view in the whole house.  
  
The room, unfortunately, wasn't my style but when I saw how much trouble they'd gone to make the room feel like home to me--or at least to some excessively feminine, phantom girl... not me. I had never been the glass- topped dressing table, princess phone type--how Andy had put cream colored wallpaper, dotted with blue forget-me-nots, all along the top of the intricate white wainscoting that lined the walls; how the same wallpaper covered the walls of my own personal adjoining bathroom; how they'd bought me a new bed--a four-poster with a lace canopy, the kind my mother had always wanted for me, and had evidently been unable to resist--I felt bad about how I'd acted in the car. I really did.  
  
I thought to myself, as I walked around the room, Okay, this isn't so bad. So far you're in the clear. Maybe it'll be all right, maybe no one was ever unhappy in this house, maybe all those people who got shot deserved it....  
  
Until I turned towards the bay window, and saw that someone was already sitting on the window seat Andy had so lovingly made for me.  
  
Someone who was not related to me, or to Sleepy, Dopey, or Doc.  
  
I turned towards Andy, to see if he'd noticed the intruder. He hadn't, even though he was right there, right in front of his face.  
  
My mother hadn't seen him, either. All she saw was my face. I guess my expression must not have been the most pleasant, since her own fell, and she said, with a sad sigh, "Oh, Suze. Not again."  
  
000 Will's POV 000  
  
I turned around a bit when I heard the lady, the mother I think, say, "Oh, Suze. Not again."  
  
The girl in question looked remarkable like Eliz –  
  
Stop right there, I told myself, best not to think about **her**. So I shook myself of the thought watch the girl, Suze I think, attempt to convince her mother that everything was fine. Strangely she almost ended up making her mother cry instead.  
  
"Mom, the room's fine. It really is." Suze half-heartedly pleaded. Her mother nodded, although I don't think she was convinced.  
  
"Alright then Suze. We'll leave you to unpack." Her mother chimed as she half-dragged her father I could only assume it was her father, Suze I mean, out of the room. I turned back to the window and stared at the ocean. I nearly jumped out of my skin when I heard the girl say,  
  
"Who the hell are you, pirate-boy?" Of course she didn't say 'hell'. 


End file.
